


untitled

by 49percentchanceofbees



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Drabble, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, Minor Character Death, Modern Thedas, Villain Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 11:06:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18364763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/49percentchanceofbees/pseuds/49percentchanceofbees
Summary: The year is 9:30 Dragon. Five slavers walk into an alienage.





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**Author's Note:**

> One of my roleplay blogs received the prompt "write about a character you're on the fence about roleplaying." I've been thinking for quite some time about whether I'll make a Fenris blog to go along with my modern AU Hawke, who is currently between the prologue and Act 1.

Every time armed humans enter an alienage – any alienage – the area goes quiet, warnings passed along in whispers. That’s saved his life more than once now. 

A particularly stupid beggar tries them, gets a kick, curses them, gets cut down. Everyone looks away. No one calls the police; they won’t come.

There are five of them, three women and two men, eyes cold and steel colder. The measuring look in their eyes as they gaze across the few elves remaining on the street – the way they seem to be tallying up exactly how much each body’s worth in gold – says  _slaver_. But they walk past the woman selling scarves on the street corner, even though she’s quite pretty; they walk past the children pressing themselves into doorways and the men ostentatiously coughing into their fists. They have a bigger prize in mind.

They don’t knock at the cheap boarding house, but they don’t kick the door in either, afraid the noise will alert their target. The proprietor meets them in the front room with a certain tired look. “I don’t want trouble. Who are you after?”

The leader hits the proprietor anyway, knocking her down; she takes this without more than a grunt of pain and doesn’t try to get up. One of the women bends down to her and shoves a much-folded piece of paper in her face. The photograph looks like it’s from an ID: the elf in it stares directly, blankly, at the camera, without the slightest hint of a smile.

“Top floor, third on the right. He’s in.”

He is in, and when the lead slaver kicks the door open, he meets the man with a sword to the throat, then pulls it out – blood sprays, but it’s not the first time that’s happened here, from the stains on the walls – and pushes the dead man down, moving immediately to his next target. That woman manages to get her mace up in time to block the blow and thinks she’s doing well until a glowing hand rips through her chest, bypassing armor and skin and rib cage to crush a handful of lung. As she coughs and chokes, the other three slavers shove her out of the way and push forward. One fires crossbow bolts around the others’ shoulders.

The fight is brief and conclusive. The archer turns to run and he throws his sword, impaling her through the chest. Then he turns to the last living slaver, who’s wounded but not fatally. She tries to crawl away.

“Tell Danarius I tire of his attentions.”

The slaver grins with bloody teeth. “You’ll have a chance to tell him yourself soon enough. You can’t run fore – ”

Well, he didn’t really want to let her live anyway.

A few minutes later, he walks down to the main room. His sword is clean but he is not. The proprietor takes a wary step back as he approaches, so he just plops a small, jingling pouch down on her desk.

“For your trouble. And the mess.”


End file.
